Not so Normal
by XJackiefrostX
Summary: This is the rewritten version of "Saving a Life". Clint is just some kid that got the short end of the stick. He's a mercenary for hire at just 12 years old and he cant seem to find a way out of this way of life. Clint thinks there's no way to save him now, he obviously never met Phil Coulson.


**Okay so this is the rewritten version of 'Saving a life' I hope you all enjoy it**. **I own nothing.**

Not so Normal

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Tulsa, Oklahoma 2008, age 12

If you asked Clint Barton how he had become a mercenary, he wouldn't be able to give you a straight answer. Maybe it was because his mom never loved him enough, or because daddy smacked him around a little too much. It was easier to blame someone else like Barney for deserting him when he needed him the most. But in the end it didn't really matter because knowing when he had gone wrong wouldn't save him now.

Clint was standing on the roof of a motel that overlooked the modest workshop across the street. His target was a middle aged man named Samuel Jenkins that had been at the wrong place at the wrong time and had seen something he shouldn't have. Clint had been hired to keep him quiet, permanently. He readjusted his grip on his bow not willing to let his emotions keep him from making the shot. He saw what must have been the target's wife kiss him goodbye before making her way out of the shop. Clint saw an opening with no witnesses and he took it. He stubbornly refused to look at the end result knowing that he hadn't missed.

He quickly scaled down the motel fire escape making sure to stick close to the shadows. With his bow safely concealed in a frayed blue gym bag, he made his way onto the deserted alleyway. Clint pulled his coat as close to his body as he could in a failed attempt to warm himself up as his ratty black coat did nothing to shield him from the fierce bitter cold of November. He made sure that he wasn't seen, as a twelve year old walking down the street alone on a cold night would arise some suspicion.

His stomach growled in desperation as Clint arrived at the drop zone. One of Marcus's men was already waiting for him. Clint didn't know him by his real name but everybody called him Cujo. Cujo easily towered over Clint standing at six feet with the build of a man that must have taken steroids at least once in his life. His face was grotesquely disfigured by multiple scars, some old some new. Clint didn't let Cujo's imposing figure faze him as he confidently walked over to him with an impassive face.

"Shot to the head, no witnesses and no evidence that could be traced back to you." Clint informed him curtly.

Cujo nodded his head in acknowledgment before thrusting a briefcase at him. "If we find out that anything has gone wrong, we will find you, we will torture you and you will wish we would have just killed you."

Clint read his lips as he talked, getting the gist of what he had said and briefly allowing the threat to sink in. "You have nothing to worry about." Clint said, not bothering to stop the rude tone that had come out.

"See to it that we don't." Cujo said with narrowed eyes, before entering his sleek black car and driving away.

Clint couldn't help the slight huff of relief that escaped him the minute the car was out of sight. Opening the briefcase he was greeted with the sight of 15,000 dollars. He slipped the money into his worn backpack before abandoning the briefcase as it would only attract unwanted attention. As he shouldered the bag Clint couldn't help but think how someone's life could be summed up with a couple thousand dollars. He wondered how much money he'd be worth. He stopped wondering because the thought just depressed him even more.

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He made it 3 blocks away from drop zone when he promptly puked out the meager contents of his stomach in a deserted alley. The acrid smell of the bile burned his nostrils as he held the backpack full of money he had earned. He tried to control his dry heaving as his stomach seemed to want to expel itself. He spit out the taste of vomit and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

Clint looked frustratingly at his stomach as it made its presence known again. He slowly stood and walked out of the alley in the direction of the nearest diner. The sign read "Bertie's" and seemed to be mostly deserted. An older looking waitress gave him an odd look he had never seen directed at him before. He supposed he was a sight to behold seeing as he hadn't slept or showered in 3 days. He ordered a chicken salad sandwich and a coffee seeing as he was going to need it if he didn't want to pass out on the street before he found a place to stay.

He sat in a booth that was more secluded in the corner of the diner and just waited. He couldn't keep his thoughts of what he'd just done away so he scoped the place out for exits and escape routes that he could should something happen in next few moments. He was just contemplating how he would escape if some crazy madmen came in and started shooting up the place when the waitress came back with his order of food. He thanked her (yes thanked her because he might be a mercenary but he had manners god damn it) before he started eating.

Eating gave him something else to focus on instead of his life choices, so he focused on trying not to seem like he hadn't eaten in days. He must have been so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't notice the waitress coming up behind him so of course he flinched when she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He brought his head up to look up at her face to read her lips. He didn't manage to catch everything that she had said but he got that she was concerned about him.

"Thanks for your concern miss but I'm ok." he said with his most innocent face.

She looked as though she didn't believe him but she left nonetheless. He thought that was the end of it but apparently not because she came out with a huge piece of apple pie and placed it in front of him. Before he could deny ever ordering a piece of pie she said "It's on the house sweetie." before she paused and seemed to scrutinize him before saying. "Besides you look like you can use a few more meals in you."

Clint decided not to look insulted because he was pretty sure she was right. "Thank you miss-"

"Carol." she interrupted. "You can call me Carol honey."

All of today's events must be messing with his head because he was totally not enjoying all of the pet names she kept calling him.

"Now." She said as she took a seat in the chair across from him. "What is a boy like you doing out so late all alone." She asked with an expression that must have been a mix of concern and curiosity.

"What if I say that I came here for the food?" He replied with a cheeky grin on his face, trying to make it seem like he was just some punk kid out past his curfew.

His attitude change didn't seem to bother or faze her as she got ready to probably say something that would probably be very heartfelt, when somebody must've said something because she looked startled for a second before she apologized to him and told him she had to go back to work.

He hadn't realized how disappointed he felt knowing she was leaving. She gave him one more worried look before she left to wait the rest of the tables. He sat there for a few  
more minutes before leaving a tip and slowly making his way out of the diner.

He would never admit how much it meant to him that someone actually showed concern for him for once in his life. The 300 dollar tip he left her begs to differ.

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**kept the interaction with Carol the same because most of you seemed to like it so I didn't want to change it. Yes I made Clint even younger because if you do the math It would mean he would be about 16 when he meets the avengers and almost all of you wanted to read about their interactions now that I've made him young. Hope you still like it and I will hopefully have the next few chapters up before Halloween. Don't forget to review and tell me what you think and ideas are always welcome.**


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